Featured Editor's Choice for February 2025
THE EMPTY SCREAM
Cooling is the night air against my skin.
But there is a power in silence left to sing
Flowers they close long before the moon
And shadows hide their faces all too soon.
The sounds of man fall far from the earth
Weary eyes close for all they are worth;
A wood nymph's tear shed upon the grass
Spirits walking by and soon all must pass.
Poor as a church mouse quiet as the grave
My hands are empty without a soul to save;
Fluttering of silk wings soft against my heart
One moment in a million forever will depart.
Gentle is the memory pouring from a dream
On my midnight breath is the empty scream.
© Peter Davies
UK
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